Oliver James's Story

“Fuck my life. Fuck my life. Fuck my life.” Oliver wasn't sure how many times he had said those same three words in the last ten minutes but it was, no doubt, becoming his catchphrase. His hands were getting tired from where they were wrapped around the bars, no doubt getting blisters, his weight seemed harder to hold up than it had been before. He sighed dramatically, dropping his forehead against the unforgiving cold metal.

“No, you know what?” Oliver pulled his left foot up higher, used it as leverage to twist his body around and glare down at the mass of motherfucking zombies at his feet. There were four of them, at least. What looked like a couple of Walkers and a Shambler. No Runners. Thank God or whoever. “Fuck you. Fuck all of you! I fucking hate dead people. Like, you have no idea.”

It hadn't always been like this. At the beginning, things had looked pretty damn hopeful. Back at the school when the first few zombies appeared and everyone got off their asses and moved. Lot's of people died, lot's of people freaked out to the point of no return, but after the first day or so the remaining adults had cleared out anyone infected and they'd kind of...lived in the school for awhile.

It'd worked. Brilliantly. They had roofs over their heads, a cafeteria full of food, bathrooms and showers in the locker rooms, more than enough teachers and lesson plans to keep them busy, people to monitor the radio's - wait to hear from the Government.

“They'll come. Any day now, they'll come. They'll have compounds and supplies. You guys won't have to sleep on the floor anymore.”

They never came.

The zombies did though.

In a fucking herd. There were too many of them. Everywhere. Shamblers, Walkers, Runners. They piled up against the doors until even the chains couldn't hold anymore and then they just...took over. No one had tried to fight, not really, they were a bunch of kids whose only weapons were pieces of chalk and rulers.

Most of them got out by the skin of their asses, hit the ground running and just...didn't stop. Ran and ran and ran until they were so far from the school they couldn't even remember how to get back. There were zombies out there, too, of course...and Oliver had never been so thankful in his life for the ability to literally through his body through the air.

Now there was this. What, eight of them left who happened to find each other as they were literally running for their lives? Eight of them who were willing to do what it took, even if it meant shoving something sharp into a friend's brain. Eight of them desperate not to be alone. Weeks had passed and they had a lot...a camp, each other, drama, homicidal idealizations, but...safety, in it's own sense.

Unless you were Oliver James. Who was hanging from a stalking shelf in an old as dirt convince store with four fucking zombies just within reach because he was sent on a fucking supply run and some of the others were close, but probably not close enough to help.

This.

This was his life.

This effing sucked.

“Stupid gawddamned zombies ruining everyone's life,” Oliver grumbled as he looked up at the shelf above him, wondering how much higher he could climb. “You know what I should be worrying about right now? The fact that there's a cute guy with my name written all over him that I would totally share this chocolate pudding with. But am I going to get to? Probably not. Because I'm going to die.”

His foot slipped.

Oliver cursed as the platform his weight was resting on gave way, tumbling to the ground and taking long expired bags of food with it. He made a desperate scramble to twist himself back into the shelving, clenching his eyes tightly and holding on.

The metal structure creaked, a low whine in comparison to the annoyed growls of the zombies below him, threatening to give way. Sweat poured down his forehead as Oliver moved his left foot again, trying to find something to put his weight onto.

And then it was grabbed.

Of course.

Rotting or not, zombies didn't play. The grip around his ankle was tight and pulled. Oliver lurched, one hand slipping off the rails before he made another grab for it. The shelves creaked again and then lost it's purchase on the wall.

“Shit, shit, shit!” Oliver's entire world spun, everything suddenly going horizontal, the ground coming up much too fast. He let go of the bars, kicked his captured foot out as much as he could manage, tucked, and rolled.

The shelving landed with a deafening thud, followed by the sound of everything that had been stacked on it clattering to the ground. It hurt, it always hurt to fall, but Oliver pulled it off. His hands hit first, forearm taking his weight -- it was awkward and sideways because his captured foot threw off his momentum when it was suddenly let free, but he rolled into a sit. In front of the fallen shelf.

Which, amazingly, had trapped his four new best friends. And sent a glorious tub of chocolate pudding from the top shelf rolling his way. “Heh,” Oliver muttered, catching it up easily and pulling off the top before sticking two fingers into chocolatey goodness and popping them in his mouth. “Fuck you.”

The streets were so quiet compared to its busy days it would have been a few months ago. How the hell did it all turn to shit the one moment everything felt like it was falling into place. Graduation was coming, grades were decent, and college actually seemed like an option. Donatello smirked as he pictured himself going to college and later working a white collar job in a suffocating cubical. How miserable would that have been. He put his cigarette to his lips and inhaled the sweet toxins while dangling his legs from the roof top of a liquor store. But this peaceful intake of nicotine was short lived when he heard a strange rumble from behind him. Strategically, he slowly took out his trusty butterfly knife and carefully got onto his feet. Quicker than lightning, he turned around and slashed whatever monstrous being was behind him.

"Meow". Looking down he saw that the closest thing to a zombie to see was a small black cat looking back up at him with shiny amber eyes.

"Well hello their shithead", Donatello gently picked up his cat and stroked her dark fur, "How was my little princess today?".

Shithead cheerfully purred in the arms of her human friend.

"Good, now let's go get groceries for the idiots at school because I don't want to deal with them". And with that he stood up letting the cat claw her way to his torn backpack. It all seemed so strange, the only person he ever talked to since the whole "the world's gonna end thing" wasn't even a human. This was some I am Legend level kind of shit. No big deal. He slid down the stair banister and returned to the store below where he had left an old shopping cart filled with supplies. Casually, he strolled out the store and looked through a list of stuff he was supposed to get. Then the cart suddenly stopped and shoved into Donatello's stomach.

"The Fuck?" He looked at the front of the cart to see a rotting corpse blocking his way.

"Well well well, what do we have here" He said as a shiny object stole his attention. A diamond encrusted gold watch. "Holy fuck, what else does this guy have"

After five minutes of searching the body of any goods, he found car keys, two rings, 63 dollars, 2 quarters, and a rusty penny. "Sweet". He turned his back to admire his new found items in the sunlight, but shithead right away hissed and pierced her claws through the thin sheets of fabric into his back.

"Ow, What the hell is wrong with you?" He turned around to scold at the cat, but instead came face to face with the body he "borrowed" a few things off of. Well isn't that just chipper. His reflexes kicked in and he swung his fist across the zombies face, letting a chunk of loose skin fly off. And of course the thing was barely even fazed, and went straight for an attack. Luckily he took out his knife just in time and stabbed it right through to forehead.

As the zombie fell to the ground, Donatello picked shithead out of his backpack and gave her a tight hug. "Aw, my little baby helped daddy not get killed" He hoped no one was watching because he was acting like a sappy mess. "Shithead, you deserve a treat". He placed her on the shopping cart seat and rolled his way toward the nearest convenience store. On his little journey he had a little target practice with about four walkers, two shamblers, and what might have a runner. Oh well. That ladies and gentlemen is the average life of a zombie apocalypse survivor.

Leaning his body weight on the shopping cart, he gave a push and let it carry him through the sliding doors. He looked at shelf after shelf to find what he was looking for. "See girl, if you didn't almost save me, I would just give you some generic brand shit, but no. Because I love you so I'm gonna get you some fancy feast type of shit. Ah, here we go." Donatello shook the shelf and let about cans of five fancy feast fall into the cart. Since his job was done he headed to the exit, but first opened a can and let Shithead consume its contents. He looked around and to his surprise their was a familiar looking blonde kid. An even bigger surprise was the walker inching his way close to the guy. Donatello smirked and threw his knife across the room and into the monsters brain. While lighting another cigarette, he walked toward its body that had fallen to the ground and retrieved his lucky knife. He turned to the other kid in the store. "The fuck you lookin at blondie?"

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Location
Top floor of Macy's
{Clothing department store}.

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that cash register that Urainie somehow had the thought to collect as much as she could whenever she makes enough to move out into a new state, or maybe country ever since the corpse's that took over town no more than a month or two ago. Things went down hill then; families and friends were practically getting eaten alive, people thought it'd be best if they commited suicide, hell, some even through themselves at the corpse's like a sack of potatoes. Everyone except for Urainie Amethyst Patel, that is, and a few other of her classmates that managed to survive the catastrophe in one piece: Oliver, the airhead. Sara, the pessimist. Donnie, the stoner. Lexie, the wallflower. Manny, the outsider. Alex, the optimist. And, Anubis, the prick. If Urainie was informed that she would be paired up with a couple of her classmates during a zombie apocalypse, she would've never expected it'd be with seven kids that either was truly insane or off the edge. Guess it was Jesus Christ himself who wanted Urainie to be the one in charge of guarding their life since she was already practically the one at their side making sure they kept their sanity.

off guard. Footsteps. And not the slow staggering one's that kept at a rhythm, but the one's that indicated for Urainie to get the hell outta there. As soon as she pulled herself up, at least seven or so zombies came charging through the door. They were Runners. All of them. "Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck..." She hid under the counter and bit her lip to hold back any sudden noises that might give her away. One Runner, a balding man with scrapings used as clothing, passed her nearly brushing her leg until she quickly pulled them up close to her chest. Her heart pounded simultaneously with each step man took. Either he couldn't hear her heart pounding or he was just playing her for a fool, he was doing one hell of a job. Urainie turned around cautiously to get a peek at the other Runners and was relieved to see that they had each lugged to their separate ways. Some went to the Men's Dressing Room, while others aimlessly moved over toward the escalators. She sat there making sure they were full out of sight when suddenly she felt a hand grab at her ankle roughly. Immediately, she whirled her attention onto him as he was pulling her towards him. He didn't even slacken his grip even when she yelped out in pain, though ignoring the sudden urge to scream she tried to dig her nails into the linoleum floor, but slipped and her head fell back with a deafening crack. Almost instantly, there was this tingling feeling running through every part of her body and her head felt light, hollow even. However, she continued to fight for her life, for her team mates. With a grunt, she kicked at the men's eye causing him to release her ankle and fall back. As she scrambled to her feet, she leaned over the man who now laid still on the floor. His eye socket was now dark and empty as where is eye should've been, but Urainie knew it wasn't over yet from the short twitching in his fingers. She reached pulled out a hanged from inside the box under the counter, snapped it in two, and plunged the sharp and into the man's chest, hard, until she heard the snap of his ribs. A small smile plastered across her face as she pulled her head back and spat out a loogie at the now dead corpse, "Motherfucker."

twelve, but fifteen zombies. Runners. They all stalk towards Urainie in her moment of terror. She was unable to peel her eyes away from their ghastly towering features. Their faces was sunken in, eyes unfocused. Their mouth twitched and drooled as if craving for something, anything. They craved for her. The smell of rotting face made her stomach churn and it was all she could do not to vomit then and there. Each one of their nails were dark and caked with blood, but she wasn't sure if it was their blood dripping from them. Finally, she saw the stomach-churning discolored skin close enough to see that it was falling apart. It was falling away from muscle, and bones. She saw everything that she never intended on seeing. In that instant, somehow, her body found itself, discovered how to move again. It was possible to murder one zombie, but the whole pack was impossible. And with that she ran for the exit. She made no attempt to look behind her to know that the Runners were tagging along after her. One of them had managed to catch up to her, and she threw her forearm back, sending the corpse flying back into two others.

others place. Twenty. "Crap," the word wasn't even a whisper as Urainie began to pick up her pace into a dead sprint. The soles of her shoes patted hard against the pavement of the parking lot. Her breath came gasping out in short wheezes, but she dared not slow down. This was a situation between life and death.

She ran through the parking lot until she rounded a corner down an abandoned Market place where she bent down on her knees to catch her breath after what felt like a minute, she peeked behind the corner and realized that she had lost the Runners until she suddenly seen one of them coming towards her, then another, and another. Next thing you knew they were multiplying. Without thinking, she pushed open the doors to a local convenience store and seen something that made her feel relieved. Angy. Or both. There in the far end sat Oliver on a fallen shelf eating what looked like chocolate pudding, and at his side was Donnie smoking his usual Camel pack. She stomped over towards them in a huff. She was sure she looked like hair at that moment. Eyes sullen. Hair tousled and caked with blood from the fall. Clothes grungy and torn. "What. In. The. Actual. Fuck," she said every word breathlessly, aware that she was gritting her teeth. She scowled at her two slackers. "Twenty, hell, maybe even more then that. And you know what kinds they were, mhm? Well, I'll tell ya'. They were Runners. And you know where they're going?" She waited until the room was enveloped into utter silence. "Here. So, either you get your asses up and head to base grounds or neither of you will see daylight." Suddenly, there was a loud pounding on the door just as Urainie turned to see that they were already trying to break through the glass doors. She quickly lifted Oliver to his feet and snatched the cigarette from Donnie's mouth. "Go to base grounds. See any of us, tell them to follow. I want everyone back at the warehouse. Go." And with that she shooed them towards the back door as she did so her head began to to feel heavy. Ignoring it, she continued to push them, but the pain only grew worse. It throbbed and pulsed in her skull; not a sharp pain like a knife-inflicted wound, but more of a dull pounding with a hammer over...and over...and over again. Her brain felt like it was on overdrive, but at the same time can't process properly. Images and ideas and plans and deadlines run through her head, but they're chasing each other round and round. Her mind couldn't catch a single one, but gets pounded with all of them at the same time as they ricochet and slam into the walls of her head.

"Dammit!" she screamed as she pressed her hands against the sides of her head until the pain went away. "Go. Now! I'll meet you guys later." she barely managed to say the last part through clenched teeth.

“...Anyway, to sum it up, that's why life sucks.” If asked, Oliver probably couldn't even manage to repeat the story he had just spouted off to four zombies trapped under metal that definitely wouldn't hold, but hell, complaining felt good. Even if, technically, he was talking to a bunch of reanimated corpses...man, he really needed to get his priorities figured out.

He stuck his fingers in his pudding again, about to take another bite, when a sound filled the little store that froze him quickly. A weird kind of grovel... low...spinning...

Oliver pulled his eyes towards the ceiling for a moment, debating his options. Put down the delicious pudding and grab a knife, or not put down the delicious pudding and possibly die...Honestly, if he was going to go out, he'd rather do it with the memory of pudding in his mouth than blood.

Just when he was about to actually make a move, a cart came around the corner, none other than Donatello Keiko pushing it. Then there was a knife flying across the room, a walker hitting the ground, and Oliver rolled his eyes before putting his fingers back into his mouth.

“Your ass,” he shot out when the other guy demanded what he was looking at. Which was only half a snarky comment actually – Donnie did have a nice ass. Hell, he had pretty much nice everything, but there was too much fucked up in there for Oliver to ever actually be interested. Too bad his rough personality didn't match that face...

Of course after him came Urainie. Of fucking course. She lectured – he knew it because he could hear her talking in the background – but he went back to his pudding. Which was amazing. Until the bitch was grabbing him and pulling him up.

Honestly, Oliver had half the mind to deadweight on her – he had to weight at least twice as much as she did, but he didn't. Because even he could see the amount of zombies trying to get through the store. Go figure. (He was, actually, kind of surprised Donnie didn't kill her the moment she touched his cigarette – those were not easy to find these days.)

He rolled his eyes as he put the cap on his pudding and shoved it in one of the large pockets on his cargo pants before grabbing his knife. He leaned over the fallen shelving, shoving the blade deep into the four zombies skulls. Yeah, technically the Runner's were a bigger threat, but Oliver learned the hard way not to leave any of them kicking.

They all had.

For whatever reason, at some point, Urainie had elected herself leader of their band of misfit survivers. Which was fine – Oliver didn't care, usually she made good calls. The annoying thing was her intense need to protect everyone.

It was going to get her killed one day.

Oliver did a quick head count in his mind as Urainie pushed the boys towards the back of the store. Three of them were here, three of them should be either at or close to the warehouse, Manny was nearby but if he got into any trouble he would most likely get his way out (lord knew how), and Anubis (wherever he was) would be fine.

They literally had nothing to worry about except for the impending doom of twenty or so Runners, and...well, Urainie, despite her hero-complex she probably needed saving herself. The girl had obviously taken a fall or something, if the blood was anything to account for. And he was willing to bet her head was pounding like a motherfucker.

The plan came pretty quickly and Oliver jogged to the back of the building, scanning the alcohol shelves until he found what he was looking for. Tequila. Bless whoever hadn't already raided the store.

He swiped the bottle down, skipped a few aisles until he found the work rags and jerked one out of the packaging, then ripped of the bottle's lid and shoved the cotton inside. Back to his group and he basically assaulted Donatello because he knew where the kid kept his lighters. (Any other time Oliver would have loved the chance to get his hands all up on that – now if the zombies didn't kill him, Donnie probably would. Probably).

“Burn, baby, burn,” Oliver muttered, flicking the lighter on and waiting until the end of the rag caught fire. As luck would have it, that was also about the time the glass doors gave way. He tossed the lighter back to Donnie, pushed himself in front of Urainie, and threw.

Glass hit the ground, shattered, and then there was suddenly fire everywhere. “Ha!” Oliver jumped in the air, fist pumped, and then grinned as the zombies tried (and failed) to walk through the wall of fire.

Here was where his plan obviously failed. Zombies didn't care about shit – they would walk through fire, no problem, it wasn't like it hurt them. The upside was that they still burned, and usually quickly (and, zombies as a general species were fairly dumb, they got distracted by flames like a blonde got distracted by shiny things). The downside was that they would keep moving until they couldn't anymore...and a flammable zombie was a little more scary than a nonflammable zombie.

They needed to put some distance between them. Fast.

“Run,” he mentioned, and then twisted around on his heels and took off for the back exit.